Miss Jackson
by sherlocksmoonlightsonata
Summary: And there he was, as though nothing had changed – Mycroft Holmes in all the glory of his three-piece suit. "Well, Miss Jackson," the silvery voice of Mycroft made her shiver after four years of absence, "Welcome back to London."
1. Chapter 1 - Back to London

Chapter 1

The lights came up – the first notes purred from the bows of the strings, closely followed by a tremendous chord from the piano. In the brightest light in the centre of the stage, stood a girl in a gown of red lace, just waiting for the music to reach its peak, waiting for her cue to belt out the first notes. It had been too long since she had felt warmth like this, from the theatre lights and the perfect harmonies of the orchestra. The natural curl of her brunette hair shined in the light and brought out the red of her dress. She looked out over the audience feeling as content as one considering the situation behind the scenes – everything was starting to settle and everything was starting to go back to the way it was before.

She opened her eyes and took a small step further into the light as the orchestra swelled to the moment before her cue, when she caught the eye of a man in the front row – and of all the men to be of course it was him, and it was enough to send her heart and her head into a dizzying spin.

And there he was, as though nothing had changed – Mycroft Holmes in all the glory of his three-piece suit.

The flight to London had been boring and uneventful. Emily Jackson had spent hours flicking through various channels and movies on the in-flight entertainment but nothing had taken her fancy. She's never been big on either, but she had read the only book she had packed whilst waiting in the airport, so she had spent the rest of the flight trying to remember her way around London from the two years she had spent there before relocating to study music in New York, majoring in piano and voice, two instruments she'd pursued since her youth.

The flight landed as the sun tried desperately to brighten the city of London through the almost constant cloud cover that loomed over the Thames. She snaked her way through the airport, dragging her luggage behind her, before finding the taxi bay and clambering inside just before the rain settled into a gentle drizzle.

As the cab rolled through the streets of the city, Emily thought back on the last time she was in the city, four years ago before her spur-of-the-moment decision to study at Julliard. She had spent two years before that living with one of her only friends, Sherlock Holmes. She'd run out on Sherlock on the whim that drove her to New York and she hadn't looked back since… Well, except for that moment six weeks ago, as graduation dawned over Julliard and over Emily. Where else would she go? She loved New York and she loved every note of music she's played and sung at Julliard, but it was time to move on and she couldn't help but think of the love she had for London and the thought of seeing Sherlock again.

It wasn't like that – not one of those _special_ friends things… They were just friends, like brother and sister and had been since her youth. There were seven years between her and Sherlock and Sherlock had been her babysitter during his teenage years. As an only child, Emily relished in the time Sherlock took in keeping her company and the young genius had taught her everything about his 'science of deduction.' After finishing high school, Emily had followed Sherlock into London and often took part in his cases for Scotland Yard, but had also worked under the hand and guidance of his brother, Mycroft Holmes. The elder Holmes brother had been somewhat absent in Emily's youth, with almost eight years between the two brothers', Mycroft was only ever around the House of Holmes during holidays or family gatherings.

But when Emily Jackson first moved to London she found herself stuck for funds and Sherlock's were wound up in a variety of illicit stimulants Rent needed to be paid, so Emily began honing the skills of deduction learnt from Sherlock, along with her youthful allure and quick wits and began working undercover for Mycroft Holmes in various situations. Regular reports on the younger Holmes were also expected and paid for generously by Holmes the Elder and Emily's relationship with both Holmes brothers extended.

In the Summer of the year she turned twenty-one, Emily Jackson woke up to another cloudy London day and decided to study in New York, without so much as a goodbye to her friends. She knew Mycroft and Sherlock better than any other person in the world and she knew that they'd find her soon enough, even if they didn't make their presence known. It wasn't long after she arrived in New York that she received an acceptance letter from Julliard and another confirming that her study had been completely paid for, signaling that Mycroft had indeed found her and was insisting that running off to New York was okay, at least for him. But knowing Sherlock, Emily knew that she wouldn't be getting away with abandoning him in the middle of case, early in the morning without a goodbye.

Emily's suspicions were confirmed when she walked up the stairs of the 221B Baker Street to knock on the door of the flat up the stairs, have it answered by Sherlock's curly mop of dark hair and have it disappear as he registered the guest and slammed the door shut in her face.

It was the usual cloudy London day – nothing unusual, which grinded the gears of the only resident of 221B Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock Holmes was perched on the sofa his hands clasped together and resting on his chin. He was dressed in nothing but his second-best dressing gown – there was no need to be dressed today if he didn't have a case to work on. It would just be a blur of violin music, chain smoking and pacing around the flat and the previous three days had been just the same. Sherlock was certainly on edge – it had been three years and six months since he had last touched any remotely illegal stimulant, heroin being his most regular choice, but he had sworn to his mother that he'd stop, after two trips to the hospital in the six months before. He had stuck to his word, knowing that the consequences, mainly socially, would only be more painful on his part.

So Sherlock was forced back into simply _smoking_ when the cases diminished, which took the edge off for the first few days, but after three days of the same thing, Sherlock was starting to become extremely irritated. Mrs. Hudson had the pleasure of bearing the brunt of a tantrum earlier in the morning, which Sherlock would pay for guiltily later, most likely during the high of a new case.

He was in the middle of pacing, violin in hand, across the patch of carpet between the linoleum of the kitchen floor and the back of the spare armchair, when there was a knock at the door. _Tentative_, thought Sherlock, immediately ceasing his pacing. _Nervous, could be Mrs. Hudson after the incident this morning_. _It must be her, no one else. Must be important, she'd usually leave me alone when I'm like this until I have another case unless it's a problem. Should answer the door_.

Sherlock placed his violin back in its usual stance against his leather armchair before crossing to answer the door, very much so expecting a reluctant Mrs. Hudson with news of a case or something from Mycroft, but the face he saw as he opened the door brought waves of something unexpected to his core – an artful, wavy mess of chocolate-coloured hair falling over the unmistakable eyes of the person who had once been closest to him, who had been his prodigy of deduction – she was the one person who kept him in check, who respected everything he was, who he had watched flourish and grow despite the negativity surrounding her childhood. He scanned her, top to bottom – noticing all the tiny changes and every other thing that hadn't changed at all – her hair was obviously longer, but her eyes were still the most beautiful and complex dark brown, with a startling mix of gold and black closer to her pupils. She had obviously had a long flight, and this, 221B Baker Street, _Sherlock_, had been her first stop after departing, taking in the luggage resting by her side. She looked the same, minus the sleep deprivation and the length of her hair – she looked like the Emily he remembered – the Emily who had… run out on him without a word in the middle of one of the biggest cases Sherlock had ever experienced and settled in New York City without any hint of contact.

And with that thought, Sherlock swiftly shut the door in the girl's face and returned to the sofa, head in hands and mind racing with the things that Sherlock had sworn from a young and vulnerable age to ignore – _feelings_.

Emily Jackson stood on the internal landing outside of Sherlock's flat in London, not as stunned by the slamming of the door as one usually would be. She had expected something of the sorts, whether it was yelling or utter ignorance on Sherlock's half, but there was a small part of her, the part that had missed Sherlock for the entire four years, that had hoped he would be calm and welcoming when she turned up on his doorstep. Now that part of her was upset and it was hard suppress that part of her now that she was back in London, and so close to both Sherlock and Mycroft.

"Ooh, that wasn't so good, dear, was it?" The soothing voice of Mrs. Hudson floated up the stairs as Emily sighed, regaining her composure and turning to walk back downstairs, towards the spying landlady, who had let her into the building only moments before the dramatics of Sherlock Holmes. As she approached the bottom of the stairs, Mrs. Hudson continued, "Would you like to come into mine for some tea, dearest?"

Before Emily could respond, there was a knock at the front door, which Mrs. Hudson rushed to answer.

"Car for Miss Jackson?" a rather rehearsed voice asked as soon as the door opened, and Mrs. Hudson turned to see Emily already making her way out of 221B and back onto the street. After a quick departing note to Mrs. Hudson, the man who belonged to the voice took her bags, placing them in the boot of a sleek, black Jaguar, which Emily then climbed into the back seat of.

Fastening her seatbelt, Emily turned to face the expected figure in the seat beside her – in all the three-piece-suited glory of the British nation, sat Mycroft Holmes, his hands fastened patiently in his lap, and umbrella hooked over his knee.

"Well, Miss Jackson," the silvery voice of Mycroft made her shiver after four years of absence, "Welcome back to London."


	2. Chapter 2 - A Tale of Threats

Chapter Two

"Mycroft," Emily Jackson sighed as she laid eyes on the elder Holmes for the first time in four years. The part of her that ached when the door to Sherlock's opened welled once more and the emotions that both Holmes' had suppressed for many years weren't as easy to ignore for her. She hurriedly undid her seatbelt and slid across the backseat, closer to Mycroft. Before he could stop her, Emily had wrapped her arms around his waist and was crying into his chest. _Yep, okay, Emily Jackson,_ She thought._ You definitely hid those emotions for too long. _"Okay, I've missed you a lot more than I thought."

"Yes, well," Mycroft shifted slightly, pulling the crying girl into a more comfortable position, his arm pulling her close to his side, "Four years is a _long time_ without so much as a goodbye, Miss Jackson."

"Oh, well," Emily sat up a little more, shaking the tears stinging her eyes with a sigh and a shake of her head, "I guess I didn't really think too much about what I left behind until now."

"Oh, really?" Mycroft raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "So you haven't given me a thought in four years?"

"Not just you," Emily said, quickly averting her eyes from man's gaze, "I guess I tried not to think about Sherlock, too."

"And did it work?" Mycroft asked, releasing his hold on Emily, allowing her to fasten the middle seatbelt, inwardly sighing at the mention of his little brother in relation to Emily.

Emily looked down at her knees as she spoke. "Well, I learnt how to hide my thoughts and feelings from the best, so… I guess you could say it worked."

The car pulled to a stop before Mycroft could probe for a deeper response from the girl, who was quite quickly reassembling the guard she had built in her first few days of leaving London. Emily clambered out of the curbside, the driver already pulling her luggage from the boot of the car. Mycroft swiftly joined her on the curb and lead her up to the door of Mycroft's inner-city apartment block – his residence for the majority of the year. Another suited man opened the door as they approached, acknowledging Mycroft and his guest with a tilt of his hat.

The apartment block was disguised and designed to look like any other apartment block in London – multiple names and numbers placed on a call panel on the outer shell of the building and a small lobby with a stairwell and elevator. The first two floors above the lobby were separated into two flats on either side of the hallway, but were only for show. The elevator and the stairwell stopped at the third floor, and Mycroft lead Emily and the man carrying her bags through the doors of the flat marked with the number "4," but this flat was just a continuation of the decoy. Mycroft walked through the flat and through a doo where a set of stairs led into the hallway of the space that Mycroft actually occupied.

Although it had been four years since Emily had seen the inside of his home, barely anything had changed. There was a new lounge suite and the kitchen had new appliances, but that was the extent of the changes. Emily smiled at the familiarity and allowed herself a moment to surface some memories whilst Mycroft's attention was on relaying instructions to Suit-man.

She remembered all the times she sought comfort from Mycroft during Sherlock's benders, where it was near impossible for her to be anywhere near him. It reminded her too much of... Well, of her childhood and she couldn't deal with knowing Sherlock was the same as her parents. She had spent a lot of time here, between that and assignments for Mycroft and had grown comfortable with everything here in those two years and even after four years of living away from it all, the sense of familiarity was comforting.

Emily's reminiscing dissolved as Mycroft's attention turned back to her. "Now, tea, Miss Jackson?"

"Please," Emily followed Mycroft into the kitchen, perching herself on the edge of the centre island. Mycroft began bustling around the kitchen and Emily watched as he moved to turn the kettle on.

"This is new," Emily commented as she witnessed Mycroft Holmes, the laziest man in Britain, begin the task of making tea.

"Hmm?" Mycroft turned towards the girl as he pulled the sugar from a cupboard above the kettle, a thoughtful crease forming between his brows. "Oh, well… Sometimes one must give their maids a Sunday off."

"So, you make your own tea on a Sunday?" a smile formed across Emily's face as Mycroft turned his focus back to the tea, pulling cups and saucers from another cupboard along the wall.

"Tedious operation," Mycroft commented as the kettle reached its peak, "But when one is desperate, they will do anything for tea."

"I'm in a state of disbelief, Mr. Holmes," slipping off the island bench to stand beside Mycroft and getter better view of this groundbreaking snippet of Mycroft's life. Emily watched as he spooned sugar, one for her and two for him, into the cups before pouring the boiled water from the kettle into the teapot. "You remember how I have my tea?"

"Remember _who_ you're asking."

"Oh, right, of course."

Mycroft stirred the cream and sugar into her cup before handing it to her, balanced on the floral, china saucer. The two moved into the dining room adjacent to the kitchen, through a circular archway, and sat down at the mahogany dining table.

"So," said Mycroft as he settled his cup and saucer onto the table after taking a sip, "How did Julliard treat you?"

"Julliard was wonderful," Emily replied as she rested her teacup in between her hands. "It was… what I needed. After everything music was that one thing that I stuck with and… I just needed to do _something_."

"I understand, Miss Jackson," Mycroft replied, taking another sip of tea, "I assume that _you assumed_ that it was I who paid your tuition?"

Emily bit her lip. She didn't really see how uncomfortable Mycroft was until then, but it was something in his expression and the way he hid behind the teacup that hinted that he wasn't okay with all of this – with her waltzing back into London and straight back to the Holmes boys as though nothing had changed. _How could things have not changed? _Emily thought. _How could I think for moment that coming back to London and showing my face after four years and no goodbyes would bode well for either of them? _

She placed her cup back in the saucer and stared at its contents, focusing on the ripples of the liquid as it settled. _I hurt them both_. Emily thought. _I thought they'd be okay with all of this. I mean, they're the_ Holmes_ boys! They might be okay with why I did it, but of course that doesn't mean I didn't hurt them with what I did. _

Emily stopped her thoughts and took hold of her teacup once more. She looked up and across the table at Mycroft, the crease between his brows returned, but more intense this time. Emily sighed and found her voice. "Mycroft, I-"

"Don't," Mycroft simply said, replacing his teacup and leaning forward in his chair, "Don't try and apologise for anything." After a pause, in which Mycroft placed both hands under his chin, not unlike his younger brother, looking directly at the girl as he continued, "We got over it."

"I didn't know," Emily held the man's gaze as she spoke. "I didn't know that-"

"You weren't to know. Sherlock was worse."

"But, why?" Emily looked down at her teacup, picked up and retreated behind it. "I never thought that anything like that… _Happened_ with you two."

Mycroft's eyes widened and he sighed, "You did not think it would? You did run out without saying goodbye."

"You know how to find anyone."

"Yes, and I did find you."

"Did you tell him? Did you tell him where I was?"

Mycroft sighed, "And why you left?"

Emily looked back up to find Mycroft's face set in its usual impassive state. Emily quickly jumped to answer with her usual, "It was an impulse."

Mycroft let out an indignant chuckle and a sigh before responding, "You and I both know that's not true."

Her walls were down now – the thought she'd held onto as her story and her motive for four years was crumbling – and it had taken so long to come to terms with it in the back of her mind, but now none of that mattered, for she hadn't been able to fool one of the people she'd tried too hard to protect. With a sigh, she leaned back in her chair and said, "And we both know that I don't want to talk about it."

"I spent three years looking for answers and Sherlock spent six months in an ever-constant high before ending up in hospital and then ignoring the whole _situation_ completely. You may think we don't care, Miss Jackson, but I can definitely say that that is not the case. I know that you care too, otherwise why would you have left after being threatened?"

Emily swallowed the last dregs of her tea and placed her cup down shakily - a blind man would have been able to see through her now. Unable to stick the broken pieces of her façade back together, she laced her fingers together and rested them under her nose, not taking her eyes off of Mycroft. There they stayed, staring at each other, both deep in thought about the whole situation, for some time. Finally, Emily gave in, unlacing her fingers and placing them in her lap with sigh.

"Fine, Mycroft," she said, biting her lip before she continued, "You figured it out – but it's a little late now."

"Not exactly," Mycroft said. "With time and the right evidence, my people and I managed to make the connection. We do not know who threatened you, but I can conclude from the lack of contact in the last four years and this delightful conversation that it had something to do with Sherlock and I."

"So, you didn't figure it _all_ out?"

"That would be a no, we concluded certain things, and you've confirmed some of them."

With a sigh, Emily adjusted her posture and focused her attention on a darkened spot on the table beside her teacup. "I was approached by a man the day before I left. He was cool and calm and I never would have pictured him asking what he did of me. We were in a coffee shop by the Thames and all it took to get me there was the mention of him hurting the two of you. So I went and he – he knew everything. He knew about my parents and my music and – and he told me the only way he would let you and Sherlock live was if I left the country and forgot all about you and about London and about him. He – he said he had people on the inside, ready to take you down if I refused and he had Sherlock's dealer on his side too and – and it truly scared me, Mycroft."

Emily wiped away a tear that had escaped and she took a shaky breath before continuing, "And I obviously did the right thing because if you couldn't find him in four years then what hope did I have of staying?"

Mycroft sighed and loosened his tie a little. Mycroft Holmes had spent four years hoping for the day he would see Emily again. She had been one of the best operatives he'd ever had and he had always felt… comfortable around her.

"Anything else?" Emily asked, looking up into the man's eyes.

"Well, obviously something changed, or _you_ concluded something from the threat that enabled you to return to London and evidently, to us."

Emily sighed and took in the face of her friend. He knew her too well - they both did. He knew her enough to know that she wasn't the type of person to just leave in the early hours of the morning and he had made that connection. "I should've known you'd figure some of it out and try to help."

"As if I wouldn't have," Mycroft sighed and moved his hands to rest on the table. "I had an entire unit dedicated to sifting through files upon files of CCTV footage from across London – I had people tracing phone calls and emails. Of course it took me no time at all to find you in New York, after tracking your flights and credit card details, but, after almost three years, none of my people could make any connection to you being threatened."

"And Sherlock?"

"Was _lost_ for the crucial months. I have thought about asking him so many times, Miss Jackson, but there is no way he would have."

There was a long pause and Emily looked down at her hands again before shakily taking a breath. "I haven't concluded anything knew about the threat."

"I'm sorry?" Mycroft's brow creased again with confusion as he took in the girl, her anxiety evident as she began to scratch at her legs.

"I… I just came back," she looked back into the eyes of the man, but continued her scratching onslaught, moving on to attacking the table. "The threat still stands, there's no loopholes - he's too good for that. I'm just here and I'm breaking the agreement."


	3. Chapter 3 - The Past

_**A/N -**_****_**It's been a while! I lost hope in this and then it was Christmas and then I got drunk and found hope and then lost it again, but I had a drink today (just one) and finished this really short, but background-y, chapter so... The next one actually isn't that far away!**_

_**Thanks to all for the kind words! xx**_

Chapter Three – The Past  


_She could smell it again – the unmistakable tang of alcohol stung both her nose and the back of her throat. There were crashes and bangs louder than the girl had ever heard in her father's previous drunken rants, which he had promised would cease with his return to the house after he fled in the height of one particular drunken rage. However, his voice was louder and the vicious baritone reverberated throughout the entire house. _

_The girl, her hair tied in a braid down her back, had just returned from school. It wasn't rare for the girl's father to be drunk at only four o'clock in the afternoon. He often started drinking from the early hours of the morning, especially so close to the weekend. A few years back, the family had been well off, easily able to afford the private school fees for their only child and the bills for their house in central England, but the father's alcoholism lost him his job and only got worse from that point. The girl's mother worked hard to try and keep the family running, but it was never enough – there was never a hope for it to be enough. The girl's parents took to constantly arguing with one another, her father often violent, with little regard to what the young girl heard or saw. _

_Six months before, when the girl had just turned seven, her father left for a great period of time. Her mother sold jewelry and trinkets precious to her in order to have someone in the house to oversee the girl's safety over the weekend, when the girl's mother worked the most. One of the neighbour boys from the manor closest was given this duty, which at first he was awfully reluctant to be involved with, but soon took the girl under his wing. The boy was fourteen at the time and quickly taught the girl some interesting habits. She quickly relished in the time spent with the neighbour boy on weekends, and she began spending time at his house with his parents, especially as the Summer rolled around, being taught myriad of subjects she'd barely heard of in her traditional education. The boy stopped taking money from the girl's mother, loving the time he spent with the girl more than any other company he had ever had. Once, she met the boy's older brother, who desperately tried to ignore the girl during his stay one weekend, but couldn't help but want to read and teach her things too. _

_But towards the end of the Summer, as the girl settled into her routine of spending her days at her neighbour's and her nights with her mother, her father returned, claiming he was finished with alcohol and that he wanted his family back. Now that her father was back, the girl was too scared to spend her days at the neighbour's and she fell back into the old routine that had caused her both loneliness and grief. The boy came around looking to spend some time with the girl many times, but the girl's father took to scaring the boy away, claiming his attitude towards his daughter was of an "impure" nature that the girl failed to understand, but it upset the girl nonetheless. The boy tried to see the girl every day, but was met with the same resistance. It wasn't long before it became apparent that the girl's father had begun to drink again._

_The girl had wanted nothing more than to flee to the boy's house when she heard her father's shouts upon her return from school on that dreadful day in the Fall. His house was close enough to hear this dreadful noise from, but far enough away for her to be safe. She was just about to turn back down the path when the front door of her house slammed open, revealing her father, tall and overpowering, his eyes bloodshot and his face full of rage. _

_Then there was pain – and blood and the tang of alcohol burning her throat once more. Someone was screaming and there were shouts of many different tones, reverberating in her ears. The girl's head began to swim with the pain of the noises and other things – she couldn't remember what was happening even seconds after it happened, but she was overwhelmed and full of fear. She tried not to open her eyes, for every time she did, she only saw her father's face and blood, mixed with spots of black and blurred vision. She was struggling to breathe, but something was trying to stop her from breathing. More pain. More noise. More shouting – and then nothing but darkness and nothing but her name being shouted by a panicked but _safe_ voice. _

_She awoke to the smell of alcohol, but toned down, something more like a cleaner. _Clean_, that's the smell she came around to. She tried to sit up, but a stranger, a doctor, stopped her and along with a police officer, explained the situation at hand._

_Her father had killed her mother and was close to killing her, but the neighbour's and the police managed to get there just in time. She had been injured and lung's hurt from her lack of oxygen during the event. She didn't want to know anymore – or need to._

_The police officer and the doctor were joined by a social worker – they had been trying to track down some distant relative for the girl to stay with, but quickly they had realised that there were no relatives. _

_And that is where the neighbour's come into play once more – they take in the young girl that had made their youngest son so happy and treat her as one of their own. She spent many afternoons and nights with the boy once more and the girl would never forget the love, comfort and safety that the family offered the girl. _

_The older brother began to visit more often, and he charmed the girl into stories and lessons as much as the younger brother did. There were times when she even forgot that she had had another family. _

_When the girl was twelve, the boy went off to university in the city and she saw virtually nothing of her best friend. She spent her days indulging in her art form, music. The boy's vice was violin, but the girl preferred the piano and her voice to the string instrument, though they had often composed together._

_The older brother began to visit more often, and he charmed the girl into stories and lessons as much as the younger brother did. There were times when she even forgot that she had had another family. _

_The two friends continued as though nothing had changed every time the boy came home from university, whether it be for a weekend or for the summer and this continued even after the boy finished university._

_When the girl finished school, she was torn between her love for her art form and pursuing something that would certify a living for herself, as her art form did not. The boy's parents urged the girl to move to the city with her friend and there she stayed, content to be the boy, now man's, muse. _

_The boy had become the world's only consulting detective. And the girl? Not what the parent's of the boy expected, but exactly what she wanted to be._

_And _who_ she wanted to be with._


End file.
